A Matter of Loyalty
by katryne
Summary: Written for Aelora's Fairy Tale Challenge - Clark and Lex in the 15th Century Malacca Empire


**Title**: A Matter of Loyalty  
**Rating**: PG  
**Disclaimer**: While Hikayat Hang Tuah is in public domain, Smallville isn't, and I most definitely don't own the rights to it. disclaim disclaim  
**Notes**: For Aelora's Fairy Tale Challenge  
**Warnings**: Um... This is NOT a happy!fic.

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**Author's notes :** Hikayat Hang Tuah, or the Legend of Hang Tuah, is a pseudo-historical account of Hang Tuah, an Admiral of the Malaccan/Melaka Empire, and thought to be the greatest Malay knight/warrior ever. (I'll just leave modern speculations and arguments aside) His best friend is Hang Jebat, and actually there were three more close friends, which, for the purpose of this story, pretty much did not exist.  
  
Anyway, there were many tales of adventure in the Hikayat itself, which is a book actually. The one I'm re-writing is the one where Hang Tuah was accused of adultery or some sort of hanky-panky with one of the Sultan/King's favourite concubine, and thus was ordered to be executed. The Bendahara/Prime Minister, believing him to be innocent, instead hid him in the forests at the edge of the city. Jebat meanwhile, went berserk (or amuk; or 'amuck' as it seems to be the fashion in modern English spelling - yes, that word is borrowed from Malay), and led a single-handed rebellion against the Sultan. The Bendahara then revealed to the Sultan that Tuah is still alive, and the Sultan thus ordered Tuah to get rid of Jebat.  
  
The age-old debate and central issue of this particular story is loyalty and the social contract. Malay society then placed a high value on the importance of obeying your king - this value is what Tuah embodied. But the social contract placed on both the ruler and subject is binding on both - the ruler only has the power to rule and the people's obedience AS LONG as he is a just and fair ruler, who served the people. By summarily ordering Tuah's execution without bothering to hold a fair hearing, the Sultan broke the contract. And Jebat is the embodiment of the rakyat/people's right to revolt in such a case.  
  
The quandary was: is Tuah too blind? And is Jebat too rash? In the old days, this particular story's moral is that of Tuah - however was the king's characteristics, he is STILL the king. In modern days however, around the 60s and 70s, the idea of Jebat as the anti-hero began to take root. Still, in schools, it's the first reading that is still the accepted interpretation.  
  
Dear God, that was long.

**Glossary and notes:**

Istana - palace  
  
Abrahah - this in reference to the story of the birth of the Prophet Muhammad. Abrahah was a leader from a neighbouring state, who wished to desecrate the holy Kaabah - it existed because Abraham built it, so it was a holy site before Muhammad received the Word of God - so that the holy attraction in his city becomes the centre of trade. Unfortunately, as Muslim literature, that attack was not to be. Abrahah and his army of elephants are attacked by birds carrying stones allegedly from Hell, that burnt and tore through his army. Because of that, the year of the Prophet's birth is also known as the Year of the Elephant. Stones from hell meteorites... not much of a stretch. Heh.  
  
The hill - the hill is Bukit Cina/China Hill,named after Princess Hang Li Po, sent from China to be the Sultan's concubine. I made the blood myth up though.  
  
Si Tanggang - Another legend. This one is of the prodigal son, which again, doesn't end happily. Dude, what DOES end happily in Malay folktales? Si Tanggang went to travel the world, and got lucky, and came back rich, except he won't acknowledge his poor mother to his new bride, because of shame. Mummy Dearest returned the favour by cursing him into a stone.

Yellow - the colour yellow is only allowed for royalty.

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A matter of loyalty by katryne

He keeps his eyes straight ahead as he marches straight towards the istana. Frightened eyes mark his passage through the dusty road, hiding in the safety of the shadow of the houses and the stalls, away from the heat of the sun and the heat of the madness lurking within the royal compound.

He feels their weight, but he cannot pay them any heed.

He stands outside, just before the slab of granite paving the way inside, past the inlaid-tiled steps, into the polished wooden floor.

His right hand rests on his hip, loosely gripping the handle of his keris.

"JEBAT!!" he cries out.

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They were childhood friends, both orphans from places and parentage unknown, adopted into humble families who lived side by side.

He was a shy boy, with huge eyes and no voice, the perfect companion for the other orphan, who was pale, bald and sickly looking.

They were more than friends, closer than brothers.

They lived on a hill that escaped the ill-luck that befell the rest of the city. The hailstones from hell scorched everything it touched. The devout people of Malacca cried out for Abrahah, cried out for the betrayer who has brought down God's fury upon them.

Some said the blood of the princess who lived on the hill blessed it from harm.

For two families, she blessed them with more.

------------------------------

A terrified serf, shaking and stumbling, almost-crawls to the courtyard. Towards the mighty Admiral of the empire, whose rage has frozen him into something like a statue. Like Si Tanggang, except his curse is his love and his responsibility each calling to him on opposing sides.

The serf too fancies himself to be in a similar dilemma, only his is being in-between the wild-eyed madman inside and the implacable statue outside.

"M- my l- l- lord," he says, fear and surprise making a fool out of his tongue. "wh- what is y- your business?"

As he will later tell his greatly relieved family: that when the Admiral looked down on his lowly humble self, for all the quiet anger in his voice, there was a kind of sadness in his eyes when he said, "bring me to Jebat."

Is it any surprise, his mother-in-law will chide him, when the two of them were the greatest, most closest pair of knights Malacca had ever known?

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Their childhood was blessed, their friendship legendary. Out of the bloody day when Hell itself poured down its contents from the sky, Tuah and Jebat came as gifts to each of their families, who kept the secrets of their arrival from everyone.

But perhaps it was too much to ask for Tuah and Jebat to keep their secrets from each other.

They would argue that it was that that made them stronger.

For a time, it did.

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In a way, Teja is glad Jebat insisted that all the women in the court let their hair down. It helps her hide the shudders his touch wrought in her. Behind her curtain, she can pretend not to see the madness in the eyes of the person, who could have been, in another life, her son.

A son that is older than her, certainly, but such is the life of a second wife.

A concubine darts into the main court, the sound of her feet reverberating through the halls, too distraught to remember that ways of a refined lady would never allow for such a breach of etiquette.

Jebat lifts his eyes lazily towards the approaching woman.

He gives her no more than a glance before creeping close to Teja, whispering, "You have such pretty eyes, Mother."

Her answer is a demure nod, but she knows he does not miss her flinch.

He caresses her cheek. "They really are such a fascinating shade."

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They excelled in everything they did.

The neighbours heard tell of strange happenings, but they were good, devout boys. Evil could not possibly touch them.

Like all boys their age, they grew up well-trained in the martial art of silat.

There were stories of an old man living high in the caves in the mountains, from whom they sought to learn more.

That was their way: Jebat sought for that ever-elusive horizon, while Tuah willingly and effortlessly kept up.

Jebat never begrudged Tuah his unusual talents, and Tuah never minded Jebat's hunger.

That was their way, and all the stories were just rumours.

But this was not a rumour: on a sweltering day in August, with clouds pregnant with rain threatening over yonder, there were shouts and screams of fear. A man was raging, running amuk through the marketplace, wielding his parang, thick and gleaming with blood.

None stood a chance.

Not even a pair of foolish boys, and one of them barely fifteen, whispered an old woman in scandalised admiration.

But they did.

And that finally caught the Sultan's attention.

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"Tuah."

"Jebat."

The air is still with fear and surprise. Someone gasps but it is stillborn on their lips. Jebat alone seems indifferent to the presence of the Admiral who is supposedly dead.

Jebat sits up, languid but self-contained. His movements are measured and careful, as placid as the silent figure in front of him. Only his eyes, his burning eyes, hint at his inner turmoil.

So this is the man I loved, Teja thinks distantly.

Noting the lack of age on his visage, to her he seems otherworldly, silhouetted by the fading afternoon sun.

A revelation hits her like a blade into her gut. She was never in love with him, only with the idea of him.

And he never loved her. She was only a mission to finish.

He doesn't even notice her. All his attention is on Jebat, who leaps up from the cushions and embraces him like the long-lost brother.

"So they were not lying this time!" Jebat strokes Tuah's face, savouring both the motion and the touch. Tuah's arms are loose by his side but Jebat's caresses do not seem unwelcome. Even so, Jebat's hands are moving down from stiff shoulders to still arms.

"Tuah, you're alive!"

"Yes." The sorrow of his answer washes over her, but seems to not touch Jebat at all.

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There were other rumours, of course.

Other, secret, kind of rumours.

The sort referred to in the shadows of alcoves, by the courtiers to their merchant confidantes, by noblemen to their trusted servants. The sort accompanied by a sideways glance.

Those wise enough learned not to pay them any heed. But all wondered at the closeness of the two almost-brothers.

Some had to _learn_ to be wise first.

Teja was a princess of the Pahang royalty, famed for her beauty and burdened by it.

Tuah's arrival at her court was her opportunity to freedom.

That was what he promised.

And he fulfilled it, to the exact letter: freedom from her family.

He never promised love.

She thought the love that shone bright in his eyes was for her. That truth kept her company in their escape through the great river, in the cold lonely nights. Until they docked in the mouth of the river of Malacca. There, as she looked at the answering gleam in his comrade's gaze, she realised that love was never intended for her.

But she was raised a princess, steeped in the traditions of her culture.

She knew when to turn her eyes away.

---------------------------------------------

"You betrayed the Sultan, Jebat."

"My father, you mean," Jebat answers with bitterness.

"I – we served him for years. Years! Not once did he say anything. And why would he?" he asks with a violent jerk of his head, naked of the traditional headgear all warriors must wear.

Tuah swallows, but remains unmoved. "He is still the Sultan, Jebat."

Jebat paces angrily, pointing his finger at the empty throne.

The throne he never sat on, despite his claims of birthright. "He ordered your execution! He sent you to death because of – what? Poisonous words by jealous courtiers? For all the years of loyal service, a simple lie was enough for you to die."

He turns and shakes Tuah's shoulders, the madness no longer lying deep within his eyes.

"He took you away. From me," he says quietly.

Tuah looks squarely at him in return. He seems immovable, if not for his chest heaving in some unnamed emotion. There is a crease between his brows, and a peculiar expression in his face, but he is either unwilling or unable to reciprocate Jebat's gestures.

All that is left are words, and they are but poor comfort.

"He is still the Sultan, Jebat."

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After so many years, no one gave much comment on the strange appearance of Tuah's friend. At first, in the aftermath of the tragedy, the appearance of such a child invited fear and derision. Neighbourhood soothsayers pronounced doom and misfortune on the simple family that took the boy in, and all who knew them.

Their banishment from the royal court from where they had served for generations was only the first of their misfortunes, claimed the prophets.

But the boy was willing to prove his worth, and never once did he claim sickness to shirk his duties. His shrewdness also led to the increase in the family's modest fortune. But he yearned to be a warrior, to stick close to the other orphan boy. And, as in all matters concerning him, the family deferred to his desires.

He never abused this privilege. One more oddity to add to his strange ways, but this was never known to many.

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"He sent you to the death!"

"And yet, we both have sworn an oath of loyalty. He is the Sultan, and he we must obey."

The frightened courtesans could only watch as their unwilling witnesses.

"What is the use of swearing fealty to a ruler who does not do right by our people?" Jebat exclaims. "There is a contract, and he broke it."

"It was within his rights." The tenor of Tuah's voice remains modulated just so.

"Only as a fair and just ruler! It's the agreement that has kept our society together, Tuah. We are bound in oath to serve the king, but he is bound to protect us!" Jebat stresses emphatically.

"In all other matters, he was as good a Sultan as any would wish. This matter is too small for you to terrorise the people over, Jebat."

"Too small?" Jebat asks, disbelieving. "You will serve this man blindly?"

"I have taken an oath." At this, Tuah gently takes hold of Jebat's hands and eases them off from his shoulders.

Jebat shakes off the hold angrily, and smoothly takes out the keris from his waist-girdle. He grips the still-sheathed weapon in his hand, and says, "I kept this for you. Nothing of yours was supposed to survive the incineration, but here – I have kept your dagger. Now that you are here, you would still pledge loyalty to the coward cowering in his minister's home?"

Jebat comes closer and says slyly, "I would think that now you have proven to be beyond death, the oath no longer applies."

Tuah finally moves. Backwards a step, his hand on the keris tucked by his waist.

Jebat stops and cocks his head, his eyes speculative. He notes Tuah's stance, the way he is holding himself. Remembers his initial thoughts that this isn't the friend he knew. Tuah would have held out for a deeper embrace, even here in front of an audience.

He looks like he's preparing for battle.

"You're here on his orders," he realises.

Tuah bows his head. "He is the Sultan."

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For the people of Malacca, their two greatest knights were the source of much gossip. From their vaunted skill, to their numerous adventures – to the common folk, both Tuah and Jebat soon acquired the patina of legend.

A part of their myth was the Admiral Hang Tuah's blade, the Taming Sari. The wicked, curvy dagger was said to be a gift from a Majapahit warrior, vanquished in a duel.

Yet some traders spoke knowledgeably of its construction, and claimed its make was not that of the Majapahit smiths.

Stories abound – how the dagger will always return to its rightful owner, how it will be able to tell a lie, how it can cut through thick wood and granite. Its sheen was otherworldly, and some have caught sight of strange sigils on the blade.

That keris can fly, spectators to duels – which Tuah inevitably won – would tell later to interested bystanders.

And it would always return to its master.

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Jebat nods in return. "Of course."

The attack is sudden, Jebat counting on the element of surprise. But they both share the same master and, just like in their sparring, neither have the upper hand.

This only makes Jebat madder. "Don't pull back, damn you. You have a mission now – this is not a practice!"

And he unsheathes Taming Sari.

Still Tuah remains unmoved, and did not sheath his makeshift keris. Keen eyes would recognise it as belonging to the Prime Minister. Did the Prime Minister have anything to do with Tuah's return?

Tuah turns to avoid Jebat's lunge and all questions are forgotten.

Even on opposing sides, they are moving in concert – even if Tuah's steps remain calm, and Jebat is building himself into a frenzy, trying to breach Tuah's defences.

Jebat is an excellent fighter, yet he cannot seem to make a dent.

Is the Admiral moving a little too fast?

No one can say.

No one seems to be breathing, as they watch the two fighters. The air is thick with anticipation, and the sour smell of sweat and friendships betrayed. Dust motes glitter in the afternoon sun, the air dry, sucked out of life and meaning.

Tuah strikes, but not with the hand holding his keris, and Jebat falls to the floor.

Chest heaving, Jebat pants, "You're not even winded. Stop playing and finish what you're supposed to do."

Tuah stills and says, "You're still my friend."

A flash of movement, and there is something else in Jebat's hand. A box lies half-open on the floor, its contents now in his hand. As Jebat rises, Tuah falls.

"But now you're my enemy."

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There was no doubt where Admiral Tuah's loyalties lay.

He was a fine warrior, an excellent admiral, and – most of all – an upstanding citizen.

The Sultan knew this. Everyone knew this. Time and again, he would prove them right.

Yet when rumours began circulating of a romance between him and Teja, despite the fact they were hardly seen together, it took little persuading for the Sultan to sentence him to death.

Teja could say nothing. What was she, but only a woman in the royal palace?

Jebat said plenty, but he was only a mere knight. He was also the unacknowledged heir to the throne, cast out to prevent bad luck to befall the royal family. He was in no position to influence the Sultan's decision.

The Prime Minister tried his best, but the Sultan was convinced. Privately he thought the Sultan was merely taking advantage of the circumstances. It would not be the first time.

In the end, he resorted to subterfuge, and sequestered Tuah away from the city.

Meanwhile, Jebat went mad, and terrorised the people of Malacca, overthrew the court and proclaimed himself king.

The Sultan did not take kindly to this, at this upstart usurping his throne. Never mind the truth behind Jebat's bloodline.

And so magnanimously he pardoned Tuah, with loud proclamations of joy over his Prime Minister's wisdom in protecting the Admiral.

But not before he extracted the promise of Jebat's life.

No one could doubt Tuah's loyalty.

-----------------------------------

Tuah is pale and shaking, prostrate at Jebat's feet.

Jebat looms over him, sweat darkening the back of his clothes, silent in his fury. A green stone sparkles in his hand.

"You knew I was coming," Tuah states, with some difficulty. His visage finally breaks, and fear and grief chase each other across his face.

Jebat shrugs. "Death is beyond you, that secret is not new to me. I only had to wait for you."

Tuah struggles to take a breath. "With that in hand?"

"I wasn't sure which love is greater for the great Admiral."

"You shouldn't have made me choose." His skin has a sickly green pallor, and he grows even paler when Jebat goes down on his knees and strokes his clammy forehead.

"What he did wasn't fair."

"And this is fair?" Tuah tries to gesture at frightened palace inhabitants, but fails. His strength seems to have deserted him, though he finally manages to sit upright.

Jebat chooses to not answer.

"I will make this quick," he promises, as he holds Taming Sari up high.

The blade vibrates. There is a peculiar humming sound. Jebat curses, and tightens his grip but it is too late.

Taming Sari is now in Tuah's hand. But he is still to get up. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, summoning strength from Taming Sari perhaps. He brings the blade closer to his chest, and just as quickly lashes out with it towards Jebat.

Jebat collapses. The force of Tuah's sudden attack suprises him enough to unclench his hand. The rock rolls away with barely a sound, its green glow beautiful and deadly. Tuah looks even more pale as he pick it up, and in a last burst of strength, Tuah throws it as far as he can.

He is still on the floor, hands trembling on the ground. His deep methodical breaths counterpoint Jebat's wheezing gasps. He seems to fold in even more, but after a brief moment, that spell of weakness is gone.

He moves closer to the prone figure lying before him. Jebat, who never tanned well, is slowly turning grey, bright splotches of blood staining his skin and his trembling hand, enclosed over that cruel-looking wound on his chest. The fine satin of his clothes, previously a muted tasteful yellow, is now soaked with bright sticky red.

There is tenderness in the way Tuah held his friend. "You should not have made me choose."

With his final breath, Jebat answers, "Who said there was a choice?"

/ENDS


End file.
